There's Always a Few Nuts in the Family Tree
by Hoodoo
Summary: Set after 2007 movie. Sam's forced to get a job.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: In case you're wondering, no recognizable characters are mine. No harm, no foul, no worries.

xoxoxox

1.

"Sam? Sam, come down here. Your father and I want to talk to you."

Sam kicked off the offending sheet wrapped around his legs, and fell out of bed. "I'm up! I'm coming!" he shouted, in case they hadn't heard the thump.

He had learned the hard way about avoiding his mother's summons after 11 a.m.: once she had borrowed an electric shock collar, laid it gently on his sleeping form, and when he grumbled and waved her away, she zapped him. Just once, but it was enough to get him up—straight up.

Sam tried not to give her a reason to get creative again.

He pulled a faded t-shirt over his head as he yawned and dug around on the floor for a pair of cut-offs. Finding some that weren't _too_ dirty, he hopped down the stairs while stepping into them.

His parents were in the kitchen.

"Sam, dear—" his mother's tone immediately sent up red flags, "—have a muffin."

The muffin suggestion sounded like a last meal.

"What's up?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

The two exchanged glances. "Well . . . we haven't been back from vacation very long—"

The kidnapping by Sector Seven goons had been a bad experience for them: having their house overrun by federal spooks, being taken away from Sam and interrogated—about, of all things, alien robots?—and then having to deal with the after effects of the "earthquake" . . . Sam's parents decided they needed a break from life, and had flown to Hawaii for a month.

"—but what happened to the old Camaro we bought you?"

Sam had been expecting this. "That old car?" he laughed, hoping it sounded genuine. "Well, the government people felt so bad about the whole kidnapping thing—plus the fact one of their secret op Hummers totally trashed the side of it when they were swarming the house—that they gave me a new car. Concept car. 2008. All the bells and whistles."

Glad he had a new friend who was a world class hacker, Sam ran outside, gave Bumblebee a quick rundown on what was going on, and pulled the faked title and registration papers out of the glove box. Back inside, he handed them over to his father.

His parents looked them over.

"Okay, I guess . . ." his dad said, sounding unconvinced.

But his mother had more to say. Clapping her hands she said, "Well, Sam, we've also decided that you've got a car, and now it's time for you to learn some responsibility.

"You're getting a job."

"What? A job?"

"Yes! You're seventeen."

What was that supposed to mean? Sam was stunned, and stuttered, "But-but . . . it's almost summer—I had plans—"

"Your Aunt Callie needs some help. She says summers are really busy for her."

"Aunt _Callie?!"_ That was a bombshell he hadn't expected.

His mother continued as if he hadn't spoken. "And now that you have your new car, you can drive yourself over there!" She smiled brightly, as if this was the best thing ever.

"Oh mom! Aunt _Callie?!"_Now that he thought about it, hadn't his mother borrowed that shock collar from Aunt Callie?

"Listen to your mother, Sam."

"But she's so _weird!__" _

His father agreed but wouldn't say so in front of his wife. It was her sister, after all. "That's beside the fact, Sam. It's all settled. She said she'd pay you above minimum wage, which is great at your age.

"You can head on over—I'm sure what you're wearing is fine."

Dejectedly, Sam took a muffin and walked out the door.

His parents watched him slump down in the driver's seat of the Camaro.

"Giving a sports coupe to a teenager?" his dad asked aloud as the car roared away.

"The government's not known for making good decisions, dear," his wife answered.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: not mine. No harm, no foul, no worries.

xoxoxox

2.

Bumblebee drove to Sam's aunt's place. He empathized with his human's distress.

Sam was relentless in his complaining. "—why couldn't my parents let me have one summer of freedom? And if I was forced to get a job, they could have a least let me find one that I picked out. I could have worked at the mall, worked in a place that would have gotten discounts me for stuff I want like clothes and CDs—"

"Or an auto parts store."

Sam snickered. "What? You wanna be pimped? Hydraulic lifts, chrome rims, LED under body strobe lights?"

'Bee chuckled.

"And now—Mikeala!" Sam was back to his tirade. "I was gonna have the best summer ever—you and the 'Bots, her--this _sucks."_

"I thought you liked dogs."

"Huh?"

"Your aunt works with dogs. And cats?"

Sam realized he'd given Bumblebee the name of his aunt's place, _All Dogs Go to Heaven_, and the 'Bot used a mapping program to navigate there, but he never told his friend what his Aunt Callie's business was. Not uncommonly, the teen was embarrassed when he had to actually say it out loud. To stave off the inevitable, he answered,

"Yeah, she does cats too."

"Then the name of her business is misleading," Bumblebee mused. "Unless she has another title: Cat Heaven? Pussy Heaven?"

The statement caught Sam off guard and he snorted in laughter. "Knowing my Aunt Callie, "Pussy Heaven" prob'ly crossed her mind. But that would be a different business all together!"

They were getting closer to the job site. Sam decided it was better to just get it over with and let 'Bee in on the black sheep of his family.

"Aunt Callie . . . well, she's weird, 'Bee. She . . . gets into a lot of freaky pseudo-science ideas like Bigfoot and ESP and government conspiracies. And this job she has for me . . . she owns a . . . crematory. A pet crematory."

Bumblebee was silent for a moment.

"Yeah, that's how I feel about it too," Sam said in the quiet car.

"I was running searches on your information, Sam, not passing judgment," 'Bee replied. "A pet crematory. People love their pets. From research into this culture, people seem afraid of death and do not like to confront it. For someone to offer a service for a difficult time, it seems like a practical, compassionate endeavor."

Sam hadn't thought of it like that. It surprised him; he'd only ever thought of Aunt Callie's work as weird and gross.

But before he could think about it more, Bumblebee pulled into the driveway.

His aunt must have been watching for him, because she was out of her house before Sam was out of the car.

"Sam! How've you been?" she cried. She pulled him into an obligatory hug.

He smiled. "Hey, Aunt Callie."

"And your car! Your mother told me you'd finally gotten one, but I never expected such a bitchin' Camaro!"

From the speakers, the song "Bitchin' Camaro" blasted out.

Callie laughed and sang a few words. "How'd you do that, Sam? I'm glad to hear someone else appreciates the Dead Milkmen!"

"Yeah," he muttered, not knowing what she was talking about. "There's a glitch in the sound system." He'd spoken to Bumblebee about doing things like that—you know, acting alive in front of other people—but he guessed the timing of the song was just too perfect to resist. "Callie, my car; car, Callie." It was the best he could do for introductions, and he didn't think his aunt would think twice about it.

He was right. Callie patted Bumblebee's hood. "You'll need to move it, though, Sam; the wind's blowing over the driveway and sometimes ash lands here. That'll pit the paint. Just come right in when you're done."

His aunt smiled again, turned and walked back to the house singing the song to herself. Sam took a breath, then hurried to catch up with Bumblebee since the 'Bot was already rolling away to a new location.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue. No harm, no foul, no worries.

xoxoxox

3.

Working for Aunt Callie wasn't too difficult, once Sam got over the grossness idea of it.

She made rounds to the local veterinary clinics weekly, asking him to help her with that if she knew a particularly large dog needed lifted from a freezer. She drove a beat up truck for her business but had installed both satellite radio and a CD player, so music wasn't an issue. Sam got to hear "Bitchin' Camaro" both from her and 'Bee respectively. He had to grudgingly admit the Dead Milkmen were fun.

Running the incinerator was easy too, and once a body had been burned to mostly ash he swept the remains away or pulverized the large bones into smaller pieces to return to the owners.

The work and hours were inconsistent; sometimes slower, other days very busy. On extremely busy days Sam showered at her place after he was done, and if he didn't have other plans, stayed for dinner. Just as he remembered, her house was filled with books on pseudo-science and several variations of Jolly Rodger pirate flags.

Callie didn't mind if he played music while they worked, so their days were a combination of various musical styles and conversation. Sam still thought she was weird, especially when she went off on a tangent about cryptozoology or whatever, but when she discussed regular subjects she was almost normal. He did learn more about his mother's ancestry. He'd read so much about his great-great-grandfather on his dad's side, but never realized the possible connection with a famous pirate on the other.

His aunt laughed when he was surprised.

"Didn't you know about Calico Jack? Why do you think I use "Callie" as a nickname?"

Sam had never thought about it before, nor had he made the connection about the skull and crossed swords tattoo she sported on her leg.

She always referred to Bumblebee as bitchin'—which 'Bee told Sam he liked—and made sure Sam "parked" his car away from where ash might fall. Several times she pulled a tarp out to drape over 'Bee if the wind was shifting. Reluctantly Sam complied. 'Bee didn't mind; he informed Sam he would go into temporary recharge on those days and only be minimally aware of the cloth.

So his summer job settled into a routine. It was nice to have extra money, and his weird Aunt Callie kind of grew on him.

Everything was going well, until the day Ironhide showed up, and Sam wasn't the first to notice him.

It was a windy day, so Sam had covered 'Bee automatically after being taken to the back of the house. Skipping up the steps through the back door, he grabbed a banana from the counter before heading through the breezeway to the converted garage with the incinerator. Callie had already been hard at work, so Sam knew most of his day would be crushing bones.

She filled him in on which needed bagged for urns and which could be disposed of, and he realized it was going to be a long day.

Late in the afternoon wrestling a frozen mastiff into the incinerator gave them both an excuse for a break.

"I've got paperwork to do, Sam," Callie told him. She jerked a thumb to the incinerator, which was making short work of the dog. "He's an individual, so the he'll need pulverized when he's done."

"A _mastiff?"_

"Yep," she shrugged. "People love their dogs."

"What do you use to do something that big?"

"You're doing to use a sledgehammer."

_"Me?"_

She smiled at him. "You're young. I'm sure swinging a sledgehammer won't be too much for you. Besides, it'll work your upper arms. Don't girls nowadays like big arms?"

"Shut up, Callie."

"And I'm sure by shut up you mean: I love you, Aunt Callie, for giving me this opportunity to work out _and_ get paid for it."

Sam laughed.

Once the mastiff was done, she helped him shake the rack to shift small pieces into the waiting metal bin, then take the remaining bones outside in a cloth sack to crush them. Hefting the sledgehammer, Sam heard her restart the incinerator for a new batch as he began swinging it.

xoxoxox

Paperwork was a necessary but tedious part of the job. She didn't make enough to hire an administrative assistant, so she was stuck doing it all. She was happy Sam was around to help; she knew working in a crematory wasn't a teenager's idea of a job worth bragging about. She took a moment to ignore the never ending paperwork and glanced out the window.

A large black pickup pulled into her driveway. Not expecting visitors, she jumped up and went to the door.

Through the screen Callie shouted, "Hey! You can't park there!"

When the black truck didn't move, she went outside.

"Didn't you hear me, Mr. GMC?" she shouted, trotting over to the driver's side door. She tapped on the fender. "You can't park here! There's hot ash landing in this area; you'll ruin your paint job!"

The truck was too tall and the window too tinted for her to see into the driver's seat. The truck still didn't move, so she sighed in frustration, put a foot on the running board, took hold of the release handle and pulled herself up.

The truck's engine growled—that was silly, it _revved_—and it jerked forward a bit, dislodging her.

Before she stumbled back, she got a quick glance into the cab. It had looked empty.

Puzzling on that, she went to grab the handle again. The truck moved again, out of her grip, and Sam's Camaro drove around the corner of her house. The tarp was trailing behind it. Callie watched the yellow coupe shake on its tires, and the cloth fell off completely.

Its driver's seat was empty too.

The big truck revved again and spun its tires backing quickly out of her driveway. The

Camaro followed, passing her so closely she was swayed by the rush of wind accompanying it. In a few moments both vehicles were down the road.

"Sam?" she called, uncertainly. "Sam—come here! Something's happened!"

The teen darted around the corner of the garage, still holding the sledgehammer. He caught 'Bee's taillights heading around a corner and out of sight. "What? What's going on?"

Callie was shaking her head. "Um . . . your car just drove away. By itself. And there was this big GMC pickup . . . it was here, then it drove away. There wasn't anyone inside."

"Oh shit," Sam said. This was bad.

His aunt looked over at him. "Sam?" she asked. "You look pale."

This was very bad. The way Callie was watching him—suspicious, like she could tell he knew what was happening—gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then it dawned on him. He had a large family, and there were only a few who would be open to understanding what had been going on in his life recently. His parents weren't in that group.

Callie was.

"Aunt Callie . . . listen . . . let me finish up this mastiff. Then I'll let you know what's going on, okay?"

She narrowed her eyes, and then nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue. No harm, no foul, no worries.

xoxoxox

4.

Sam finished with the sledgehammer, and Callie helped him sweep up the dust. She shooed him away to shower while she put the ashes in an urn. By the time she had shut down for the day and he was toweling his hair dry, it was dusk. He glanced out the front of the house, hoping Bumblebee had returned. He was disappointed to find his friend had not.

"Did you have a date tonight?" she asked as he came into the kitchen.

"No."

"Well, that's a good thing."

Sam gave his aunt a puzzled look.

"Your car drove away, Sam. If Mikaela was expecting you to pick her up, and you showed up in my truck, wouldn't that seem odd? Which reminds me . . . "

Callie grabbed the cordless phone and dialed.

"Who are you calling?" he asked.

She waved him silent.

"Hey sis!" she said brightly, giving Sam a disapproving look at his surprised outcry. "Listen, we're swamped here—we're just now finishing up. And we're looking at an even busier day tomorrow. I'll feed your boy, and he can stay the night. Okay?"

Callie nodded at the answer, then said, "Great! I'll send him home exhausted and sweaty. No prob. Talk to you later! Bye!"

"What did you do that for?"

"Um, let's see. I'd like to hear what you'd say to your parents when I drop you off at home in my beater truck when they're expecting their pride and joy to come home in a hot yellow Camaro. Were you going to tell them it disappeared? Drove away by itself? Hmm?"

Sam thought his aunt could be horribly sarcastic, even if she was right.

"Sit down, Sam. We're having a gourmet meal of hot dogs and chips. And grilled, bacon-wrapped plantains, so your mother doesn't accuse me of not giving you anything nutritious."

He snickered, and wasn't surprised at the odd combination for dinner.

"And you can start, any time, about what happened in my driveway."

Sam grew serious, and nodded. As his aunt pulled together dinner, he started talking.

By the time he'd finished, the meal was done. Callie had only interrupted him once or twice, mainly during his information about Sector Seven ("I knew it! The government is withholding vital information from the American people, in blatant disregard to the Freedom of Information Act!" It took Sam several minutes to stop her conspiracy tirade and get her to continue listening), and after he was finished, she sat silently.

A slight breeze moved the curtains. Sam wondered if he'd made a mistake telling his aunt.

"Giant robots. That change into cars."

"Transform."

"Transform. My mistake. And they're alive. Sentient."

He nodded.

Callie nodded slowly, too. "I rapped the hood of the pickup. Tried to pull myself up and open the driver's door."

"Uh-huh." Callie had mentioned that, recounting for him what happened when Ironhide pulled into her driveway.

"That was really rude, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"Yeah. It'd be like a stranger walking up and trying to open your mouth, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that. But you didn't know." And the realization that Callie accepted his story without missing a beat hit Sam. He hadn't been mistaken about his weird aunt. Except now she felt horrible, feeling she'd committed a huge faux pas.

"I need to apologize. Sam, you tell him to come back here so I can apologize."

"What? I don't know why they left! I don't know when 'Bee will be back, and I certainly can't guarantee Ironhide will be with him!"

"Then when Bumblebee gets here, ask him to tell Ironhide to come back."

Sam sighed. "Fine. But Ironhide's . . . grumpy. He may not come back."

"You just let him know."

"All right, all right!"

Sam was worn out from the long day and spilling his guts about the Autobots. As Callie turned down the guest bed for him, he wondered where 'Bee had gone with Ironhide, and if the 'Bots would be upset about him telling his aunt about them.


End file.
